


The Risk of the Saarebas

by dabbingslytherin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Modification, Canon Related, Culture Shock, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Identity Issues, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Non-Canon Inquisitor (Dragon Age), POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Personal Growth, Qunari Culture and Customs, Saarebas, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, The Qun (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23805082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabbingslytherin/pseuds/dabbingslytherin
Summary: I am outside my karataam. I may be corrupted. I cannot know.I am a bird released inside it’s cage.Certainty is comfort. I have chosen. Asit-tal-eb; it is to be.Concerned by the threat posed by the bas in the south, the Karataam was sent to Conclave to gauge the Bas Saarebas threat.With her karataam destroyed and a strange magic on her wrist, Saarebas is left with a choice: The Qun or the World.---Canon-based AU with Saarebas!Inquisitor.
Relationships: Female Adaar/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 13
Kudos: 52





	1. To Serve A Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> The Qun has always been particularly fascinating to me. Equally fascinating is the idea of a Saarebas thrust into the position of Inquisitor. This is my take on that idea. 
> 
> This fic is within the world state that appears (and more significantly outlined) in [**For King & Country**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22894792/chapters/54722026). Though related, it focuses on the journey of the Inquisitor and how these events shape the person that she is. 
> 
> The Qun is a hard society which, in my opinion is not as ideal as it is painted. This is my interpretation, and I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> **Warnings:** This fic contains dark/mature themes, which are outlined in the tags, which apply throughout this work. Where I can, I will indicate per chapter. 
> 
> Enjoy! x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Loss of the self is the source of suffering."
> 
> \-- The Tome of Koslun, the Body Canto. 

The stone is freezing underneath and yet Saarebas doesn’t move, waiting for what will come next. Protected by the wind by an enclosure of stone, but the air is fresh and stings to inhale. The iron mask that protects the world from Saarebas burns with cold.

Saarebas doesn’t make a noise despite the discomfort. It is an unwelcome reminder that despite the fate of her Karataam, Saarebas is somehow _alive_.

A new, unfamiliar pain pulses on Saarebas's left wrist. Through slits in the mask, Saarebas watches green furls of magic curling around shackled hands.

It is hard to see, but not impossible and Saarebas makes out the sparse details of the room. Saarebas is familiar with holding cells, even if it is cold. What is unfamiliar is the cold and even in the enclosed space, it is unsettling. The cold rests heavy on Saarebas's shoulders. It smells like green trees and fresh water - comforting - but it bites at hands enclosed in iron.

Quick footsteps echo into the cell. Saarebas hopes it's Arvaarad, come to renew his control and return to a Karataam. It is a foolish thought but comforting. Saarebas needed Arvaarad to guide her in serving the Qun.

Sunlight floods the cell when the door opens. After the darkness, it is blinding and makes Saarebas's eye's ache: _familiar._ Blinking spots of light away, Saarebas sees two _bas_ females. One Basra with hair the colour of flames and the other Basra had dark hair and pulsed with anger.

Underneath the anger ebbed a gentle lick of something that tempered the ebb and flow of magic. Saarebas floundered without it. It was the reins that controlled the crackle of magic in Saarebas's veins. What Saarebas required to survive.

 _Arvaarad_ , but not quite. _Bas Arvaarad_ , even. Someone to harness those reins, a tether for the chaos that was within the Saarebas.

This basra was someone who could bear the burden of Arvaarad. A bas that would lead the Saarebas.

The basra describe a hole in the sky, which the basra call 'the Breach'. The basra blabber and speak over one another. They ask questions even as they demand answers, answers that Saarebas cannot give. Silence is Saarebas’s answer, a tenuous condition to continued existence.

The basra speak to one another using names that do not describe their titles or their purposes. And Saarebas waits, welcoming death. It would be a relief: the last fulfillment of her purpose.

But death was not so swift.

The basra with flames in her hair decides that Saarebas will go to the Breach. Wearing her anger like a mantle, the other basra gestures to waiting soldiers. They surround Saarebas, hauling her to her feet which are stiff with cold.

Outside is no better than inside. The sun is harsh and too bright, and the frigid wind wraps the cold around them like a blanket. Other bas watch them pass, sneering and spitting. Saarebas is immune.

At the gate, Saarebas slows, the first show of uncertainty. The basra bids Saarebas to follow, there is no choice but too.

Saarebas can feel the magic in her hand recoiling from the tendrils of the Basra’s power. This female can control Saarebas, she thinks. If the basra fails, then the hole in the sky would do what the basra could not.

The sunlight shines on frozen water that glitters crystalline blues and greens. Saarebas remembers the names of such colours, from another life: another purpose. In this uncertainty, Saarebas's purpose has not changed. The mark on Saarebas's left wrist pulsates and throbs, swelling with magic that wasn't her own.

"The mark will kill you." The basra speaks to Saarebas, gesturing to Saarebas's hand. The bas word 'kill' is familiar, dangerous: this unknown magic on her hand is dangerous. Saarebas considers the basra, lightning and fire roiling in her veins.

Without the Qun and without the guidance of Arvaarad, Saarebas would have succumbed to corruption. 

Saarebas's purpose was the same, even with this unknown and untested magic. To follow a Bas Arvaarad was to continue fulfilling her purpose.

For now, Saarebas would follow.

Reluctant Qunari follows the Bas in a cruel twist of the narrative. Above them, the hole in the sky swells with the power that furls around Saarebas's wrist. Saarebas's falters. The basra urges them onwards.

Green lightning strikes where they stand, the wooden bridge immolating in emerald flames. The powdered snow over the frozen lake cushions their fall as the sky flashes in a green tempest. Demons materialize from scorched earth and attack.

The basra had spoken truths.

Drawing a sword, the basra charges. Displaying skill that rivals the Karasaard, the basra cleaves demons in two. The onslaught is unrelenting, the demons seeking to overwhelm and to corrupt. Lightning sparks to life within Saarebas, unhindered by the mark on her wrist. Yet there was no call of an order other than follow. A demon born from shadow advances on the basra, maw open, prepared to devour mortal flesh.

The air crackles with energy, the lightning within Saarebas curls and sparks. The basra stumbles.

Harsh cracks of lightning erupt from Saarebas, demons turning to ash swept away by the wind. The world is still once more but for the rushing wind. Immediately, the basra turns her sword on Saarebas, demanding submission.

The command was that of Arvaarad, to ignore was to deny the Qun. Saarebas sinks to her knees amongst melted ice, head tucked to her chest in subservience. Now Saarebas notices the stabbing of the mark, the green light of its power turning the iron cuffs opaque. It doesn’t diminish Saarebas’s power, it doesn’t render her ineffective. Saarebas did not have the mark when she was under the watchful eye of the Karataam. This mark signalled the death of the Karataam. But there was no memory of their passing. Instead it settled within Saarebas as something known rather than remembered. Memories were unreliable. Memories were intangible and shaped by words, insignificant.

Saarebas hears the sound of sword sliding home in its sheath. "I will remember that you did not run." The basra - _Bas Arvaarad_ \- says. There is another known word: 'run'.

A hand touches Saarebas's shoulder and she looks at Bas Arvaarad, who nods. Bas Arvaarad gestures and Saarebas stands. Another wave and Saarebas follows after Bas Arvaarad, crunching across snow.

Up, up the mountain, Saarebas and Bas Arvaarad walk, making for the hole in the sky; the 'Breach'.

*** * * * * * * * * ***

Bas Arvaarad was watching Saarebas as she conferred with the other bas.

This was good. For one that was slave to their own ignorance, Bas Arvaarad had adapted to her new role with ease.

 _Complicated creatures, the bas._ Arvaarad had once told Saarebas. Consumed by the very freedom that they were slave to, the bas floundered in chaos. Saarebas knew this because she had seen it. Then Qun waited for the bas to allow it to guide them but instead the bas rejected its wisdom. When the bas attacked, Saarebas would strike the ignorant down. Arvaarad would allow the wind to sweep away their ashes before they could poison the earth.

Here in the mountains, governed by snow and ice, the bas gathered to fight the demons that spewed from the Breach. They were no more than fodder, throwing themselves at the corruption in the sky. Saarebas saw this, saw their misguided fear and rage. Bas Arvaarad's anger was different, Saarebas didn't know why, didn't care to. The ways of the bas were wrong, they fought the natural order. Yet it was the bas who knew of the Breach and the mark. To know, to understand this magic, Saarebas had little choice but to stand in their chaos.

Bas Arvaarad was talking to Saarebas again, trying to provide explanations, instead of orders. Explanations that Saarebas didn't understand.

Saarebas's fingers twitched as she contemplated explaining Bas Arvaarad’s purpose: to guide Saarebas. No, it was not Saarebas's duty to explain the Qun to the ignorant. Until the Breach was sewn shut, Bas Arvaarad was Saarebas's tether to the world. It was a temporary solution; it would not be permanent. Saarebas would knit the sky back together, completing her duty by forfeiting her life.

 _The bas are fickle, until the Qun guides them, they are not trustworthy._ Arvaarad had taught Saarebas this. Yet in this fickleness, Saarebas found assurance. Should the bas fail, then let the fearful magic of the Breach be Saarebas's demise. If not, Saarebas would immolate herself in flames of her own conjuration.

To live by the Qun was to die.

Bas Arvaarad beckoned Saarebas to follow, and with the bas soldiers they pushed through banked snow. With the way temporarily cleared, it revealed a narrow path that disappeared further up, and into the mountainside.

Bas Arvaarad beckoned Saarebas to follow. Through banked snow, accompanied by soldiers, they followed an icy and narrow path. They moved as one through ice and snow, the wind bitter, the pathway leading them into the mountain. Stepping out of the wind into the stone tunnel was a relief, but it wasn't to rest. The stench of demon hovered in the air, something skittered on the stone in the shadows.

It was like being in the Karataam, the soldiers raised their swords and engaged the demons. Saarebas gathered smouldering fire within as Bas Arvaarad advanced with the others. The battle cries echoed in the enclosed space. Together, as a cohesive unit, the bas advanced forwards.

In their wake, they left ash. The only remains of the demons that fell from the shower of fire from Saarebas's charred hands.

The sunlight was growing bright and brighter, they were almost on the other side. Bas Arvaarad is shouting at Saarebas, urgency in her voice. Saarebas quickens her pace. Bas Arvaarad shouts again.

The mark trembles, the furls of green magic snap and crackle. Saarebas lifts her hand to see what has changed. Even with the wind, the acrid smell of demon perfumes the air and clashing swords roar in Saarebas's ears.

This isn't the Breach, but something smaller, a rift that allowed demons to cross into the waking world. The realization was swift and terrible. The Breach was not wayward bas magic gone awry, but a breach between the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead. It tarnished the sky as demons and shades crossed worlds. For all their lies and denials, the bas had once again spoken the truth.

And Saarebas bore a connection to this rift between worlds.

Bas Arvaarad shouts again, this time a direct order. Saarebas throws devastating bolts of lightning, but the demons are unrelenting. They were unstoppable, resistance was futile.

Yet Saarebas still presses on. The air snapped with the frisson of lightning that Saarebas conjures. Unnatural screeches add to the terror of the scene. The melted snow tarnished by bas blood and viscous black liquid that had no name. The rift drips and pulses, shooting green bolts of its own lightning.

Whatever the magic touches, it leaves behind death. Yet the mark on Saarebas's hand vibrates and hums with life. Demons had stopped traversing into the world, they were victorious.

But they were not finished and Saarebas does not know what to do. Saarebas turns to find Bas Arvaarad, seeking instruction on how to curtail the threat. A hand yanks Saarebas's shackled hands towards the rift and the mark comes to life. The power of the mark streams into the rift, convulsing on Saarebas's arm. It beats with a life of its own as it pulls on the rift, the air sucking around it.

And like gaatlock, the rift explodes and there is nothing left but the whimpers and moans of wounded bas. Saarebas turns to find that the hand holding her shackled ones to the sky belonged to an elf. An elf that held a staff in their other hand. _Bas Saarebas._

Unshackled Bas Saarebas were true threats. They walked amongst the bas unchecked by an Arvaarad. Watching, speaking, hearing, touching. Demons walked with ease between two worlds and the sky was asunder. It was no wonder that the Bas Saarebas warred amongst themselves. Unchecked as they were, they moved with the forces of the world. Chaos had consumed them; it was why the Qun had sent the Karataam to this land of chaos and cold.

Saarebas could not risk corruption. Saarebas could not be sure that her thoughts and actions were hers. Saarebas's concern turned to alarm. With no prompting, the Bas Saarebas had compelled magic from the mark. A violent shudder gripped Saarebas, as the Bas Saarebas spoke to her in clipped tones. With quick steps Saarebas retreated to Bas Arvaarad's side.

A deep chuckle echoed in the aftermath of the battle.

Saarebas growled then, the first sound to cross her lips after such a long time of silence. The growl was a warning as lightning danced up her arms. Saarebas was tiring and the mark lent to her exhaustion. This new threat was familiar, Arvaarad had instructed Saarebas on this before. The order was unspoken and ingrained: The Bas Saarebas were a threat. They mustn't live, should they corrupt others.

Lightning snaked up Saarebas's arms prepared to unleash a maelstrom. Saarebas would act without a command. Saarebas would protect those vulnerable to the Bas Saarebas's corruption.

Saarebas felt it before she could react. The surge of Bas Arvaarad’s power that combated the wild magic of Saarebas. It flooded Saarebas and the lightning fizzled out. The tendrils of power permeated Saarebas's magic hindering her from completing her duty. The power pushed Saarebas to her knees in a clatter of steel. And Saarebas fought Bas Arvaarad, choking on air as Saarebas fought the will of Bas Arvaarad.

Saarebas’s head thumped to the frozen ground and Saarebas once knew oblivion.

*** * * * * * * * * ***

Crackling flames fill Saarebas's ears. The heat from a fire warms the chill that had rooted in her fingers and softened the leather of her boots. Saarebas tries to sit upright, fighting tired limbs and the thunder in her head. The touch of the Bas Arvaarad is different to Arvaarad. A fog surrounds Saarebas, making it hard to move and think, but there was breath in her chest. The white-hot flames of Bas Arvaarad's power had crushed the power of the Saarebas.

Immobilised and weak, Saarebas was nothing but an abomination who lacked purpose. The simplest of tasks was impossible.

But for this weakness, the will of Bas Arvaarad was like water quashing flame. The control of Arvaarad was rough and crippling. The will of the Arvaarad forced Saarebas to her knees in subversion, limbs locked in place. Unable to move, the forbidden power of the Saarebas was then ripped away. It left Saarebas gasping for breath, yet Saarebas could still function. Saarebas could still think. Saarebas could still feel. Saarebas could still function.

This exercise of control brought certainty and with it, comfort. Bas Arvaarad's left Saarebas reeling in chaotic uncertainty.

For the Bas Arvaarad left Saarebas empty, devoid of power wielded in the name of the Qun. The current of magic that gave Saarebas life stalled. And as Saarebas floundered in the stillness, the fog stopped her from thinking and moving. There was nothing to unleash.

The dull clunk of heavy chain was a welcoming sound. Sluggish and slow, Saarebas managed to find her feet.

If this shell was all Bas Arvaarad would leave Saarebas, then only one path remained. Saarebas would stand before the Breach and use her life to return balance to the world.

“You need to drink this.” A voice: brusque, angry, feminine. _Bas Arvaarad._ Saarebas struggled to focus on the item in Bas Arvaarad's hand.

Saarebas did not understand the bas-language, save for a few words. Some of the sounds were familiar, but there was no meaning to them. Bas Arvaarad repeated those same sounds. Saarebas crooked her head. If Saarebas could speak - _wanted -_ to speak, then Saarebas could copy the lilting and angry sounds. Saarebas didn't, focusing instead on what Bas Arvaarad held.

A vial, of gleaming azure - the colour of clear sky when the sun was in its zenith. The colour of the waves as they rolled in the sea. It was a trick - a test of the bas.

A hand plucks the liquid sky from Bas Arvaarad's hand. Saarebas turns her attention to the intruder, angling her body so she can watch Bas Arvaarad too.

 _Dwarf_ , Arvaarad's voice whispers.

The Qun has no name for their kind, even though Saarebas has seen them before. Stature was irrelevant in the Qun, only the individual's purpose. The non-believers: the _bas_ could be human, elf or dwarf. Once they embraced their purpose, they shed that name and became _viddathari._

This new bas holds the vial of sky in his hand and Saarebas watches as his eye twitches. The bas pretends to drink the liquid before handing it back to Bas Arvaarad.

"Drink." Bas Arvaarad repeats. Shackles clink as Saarebas fumbles to grasp the vial with fingers stiff with cold. The bonds make it difficult to move, sometimes to grasp things. Arvaarad always placed things so Saarebas could manage.

The exertion was tedious - another trial. Saarebas finally managed to lift the vial to her lips and swallowed the sky. Immediately, she recoiled at the bitter taste. The liquid raced through Saarebas's body, warming her hands and booted feet. Cursed magic, which was a dull lick of flame within crackled with sudden lightning. It snaked along Saarebas's muscles, electrifying fatigued muscles.

Another reason to be wary of the bas. To be cautious of the Bas Arvaarad, yet Saarebas would have to follow where she was led. Saarebas had been thrust into the middle of chaos and none from the Qun could guide her in this.

Bas Arvaarad motioned for Saarebas to follow.

From behind a natural crop of rock, they emerged into a howling wind that whipped the snow around them. The eerie green magic of the Breach absorbed the watery sun, setting an unnatural scene. The dwarf was ahead of them, approaching the Bas Saarebas. With the Bas Saarebas was a new bas - a warrior. A force of soldiers was behind him who moved with exhaustion - bas who had faced the demons out of the rift.

Saarebas slides with ease into Bas Arvaarad's shadow, despite towering over her. Unknown if this newcomer is a friend or foe, Saarebas watches as Bas Arvaarad steps forward. The two bas exchange terse words that grow louder in volume. An angry gesture by the bas interrupts Bas Arvaarad. A growl rumbles in Saarebas's chest at the disrespect.

The warning did not go unheard, the bas turns his attention Saarebas before back to Bas Arvaarad. The bas makes an angry gesture. With that gesture, a bitter wave of power accompanies it, seeking to quash Saarebas's magic. Another _Bas Arvaarad_.

Movement distracted Saarebas's intense study of the second Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas's shoulders stiffened as the dwarf approached, careful to stay within full sight. It was almost like the dwarf knew what to expect - had encountered the Saarebas before.

Saarebas shifted so she could be vigilant over Bas Arvaarad _and_ the dwarf.

The dwarf pointed at Saarebas.

“Saarebas.” Disjointed pronunciation of the word, the hiss hardly there. Saarebas did not respond in kind, though her attention was now fixated on the dwarf.

The dwarf pointed to himself. “Bas.”

The dwarf touched his chest. “Varric.”

Communication between Qun and Bas was unnecessary. Yet the simple method communicated more than the simple actions of Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas afforded the dwarf who called himself Varric her attention. Yes, this dwarf knew the Saarebas. Enough to know that Saarebas could not - would not respond in kind.

Dwarf-Varric pointed to Bas Arvaarad. “Arvaarad.”

Saarebas growled at the insult that the association brought. “Seeker.”

Immediately, Saarebas turned back to Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas knew of the Bas Seekers, Arvaarad had described them and the threat they posed to the Qun. The Bas Saarebas were a threat, but so too were the Seekers. The Qun gave Saarebas purpose and direction. The foolish notion of chance and fate did not apply here. Saarebas's path had brought her to the Bas Seeker in fulfilling the demand of the Qun.

“Saarebas.” Eyes turned back to the dwarf, who had more to say; more to explain.

To the newcomer, the dwarf gestured. “Arishok –”

Immediately Saarebas crashed to her knees, head bowed in deference. “– Commander.”

*** * * * * * * * * * ***

The Breach was above Saarebas. It pulsed and snapped with the same magic that was in Saarebas's left hand. They were inside a destroyed temple, scorched stone fettered with red crystal. The crystal emanated heat but didn't melt the snow that had fallen around it. The silence was thick, even the wind had died away, this place was dangerous. It made Saarebas doubt each step that brought her closer and closer to the Breach.

_Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice._

The booming voice was crippling. The heat emanating from the crystals was stifling. Saarebas clenched her fist, grit her teeth and pushed on. The Breach was unnatural, an abomination to the world with nothing to keep it in check. The voice, whoever it belonged too, was familiar.

_Keep the sacrifice still._

Saarebas could feel the vigilant gaze of Bas Arvaarad-Seeker on her back. The further inside they went, the sense of danger heightened. Saarebas clenched her fists.

_“Someone help me!”_

Saarebas knew this desperate call. The stilted words were unfamiliar, but Saarebas remembered the desperation. Beside Saarebas, the bas were trading quick and urgent words. The voice was familiar to them, the bas knew the identity of person who uttered them.

The mark was spitting magic, snapping at Saarebas's own. A haze appeared around them, and from blackened fog a foreboding figure loomed. The image of a basra restrained and desperate looked at Saarebas, desperate.

_“Run while you can, warn them!”_

Saarebas froze in place, closing her eyes against the sounds of desperation. The bas knew the figure in the haze, they were angry and uneasy. Whatever this...vision, it was from the magic that caused the rift - magic that corrupted. There was no control, nothing to check it.

And Saarebas had a tool that had the potential to check such a threat. At risk of her own self. Opening her eyes, Saarebas turned towards the voice which echoed with intangible memory. A meaningless notion, but now it was relevant - a vital detail even.

_We have an intruder, kill them._

They should leave, while they still could. Nothing good could come of being so close to such magic. Saarebas growled with warning to an unnamed and unrecognized foe. The bas argued amongst themselves. Only Saarebas eyed the true foe: the rift dripping volatile magic.

“ _Teth a, vinek kathas Saarebas.” Attack, Saarebas._

The command was true, deep and gruff, guiding Saarebas to fulfil her duty through the Qun. _Arvaarad._ It was Arvaarad's final order, and Saarebas thrust her bound hands up to the rift.

Sickly green power erupted from the mark, streaming into the rift. Bas Saarebas yelled to Bas Arvaarad-Seeker, who was belaying urgent orders. Bas soldiers were taking position around the rift, weapons raised, anticipating a fight.

Power from the mark poured into the rift, swallowing the power. From the shadows, through magic that Saarebas didn't understand, stepped a demon.

Horror and trepidation filled Saarebas. They would fight to their deaths here.

Magic roared in Saarebas’s ears. The air crackled as a chain of lightning snaked through the air, cutting and fatal. A terrible roar and Saarebas gazed on the creature of magic that had materialized from the hole in the sky.

Instinct reigned, ruled by Arvaarad’s order: _attack, disable, kill_. Fire was the only thing that could combat such a monstrosity. Fire would destroy and cleanse, prevent further corruption from its brief existence. Only through an inferno, could Saarebas combat this threat. She could not falter. Scorching balls of fire slowed and burnt the creature, but the it couldn't fell it. After each blow, it responded with punishing cracks of lightning. Saarebas would not let its purpose prevail.

The demon did not relent, there was no Karataam for support. Saarebas was alone. With a flash of fire, Saarebas grunted in exertion ducking out of the way of a shadow. It reached for Saarebas's neck with claws that were too long to be natural. A pained roar echoed and Saarebas pivoted on the spot, the gargantuan demon had doubled over.

“Saarebas!” Bas Arvaarad-Seeker bellowed over the clash of swords and otherworld screeches of demonic creatures. The battlefield was small and contained. Long strides brought Saarebas rushing to Bas Arvaarad Seeker's side.

“Saarebas!” The one called Commander - like Arishok but not - _Bas Arvaarad -_ gestured to the rift with his sword. The pathway to two worlds, the hole in the sky. The order was clear. Saarebas slid on blood-slick stone, turning and thrusting her hands to the rift once more.

The rift in the sky suckered in the power that flowed from the mark. It sought to reel in Saarebas, to prevent the closure. Saarebas let out a muted roar of frustration that tore at the bonds on her mouth and _resisted_. The loss and the trials: Saarebas would master this inadvertent challenge. Saarebas would fulfil this duty to Arvaarad and the Qun.

A low, pulsing drone grew higher and higher in pitch. A building tension that was unravelling, like string pulled too taunt. The mark pulled on Saarebas's magic, fuelling its power. The rift suckered and pulled.

Saarebas would not submit to this magic.

With another dulled roar, Saarebas yanked her hands back. The tension snapped and the rift released an onslaught of power that surged upwards to the sky. The invisible forced gripped Saarebas in its clutches, flinging her backwards.

Saarebas collided with a wall, pain bursting like stars. It was nothing like Saarebas had every experienced. If this was death, then Saarebas would submit to it.

Black.


	2. To Find A Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do not fear the dark. The sun and the stars will return to guide you."
> 
> \-- The Tome of Koslun, the Soul Canto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some adult themes in this chapter, please check the warnings and take care. 
> 
> _Artisaari_ : Weavers of cloth.  
> The name is derived from 'artis' - particularly the abstract meaning of art. Specifically, describing the art of the loom.

Cassandra Pentaghast looked down at the Qunari mage – _Saarebas_ – who still lay, unconscious in the bed. The healers had removed the iron mask that the Qunari dictated she wear, and the smithy had cut the shackles on her wrists, freeing her hands. It was the freest that the unknown Qunari – this Saarebas – would be for Maker knew how many years.

Cassandra hadn’t seen many – _if any_ – female Qunari that weren’t converts before. The Saarebas that was lying on the bed before her, unconscious, was _pretty_ by southern Thedosian standards at least. Not only that, the Saarebas that lay unconscious undid _everything_ that Cassandra Pentaghast knew about the Qunari. Which, as Right Hand of the Divine, was certainly more than most who weren’t scholars.

Sympathizers for the plight experienced by mages of the Qun would have been horrified: the heavy chains that weighed her down, the mask that prevented her from seeing. The same mask that disguised how the larger set of horns on her head had been removed, filed down to blunt tips. Her lips were stitched together, but Cassandra could see that it had been done with a skilled hand and then well-cared for: there was little to no scaring around the thick cord threaded through her lips. Hands that had been bonded together with the same thick chain that weighed each movement down had also been removed. For the moment at least.

The Qunari had bound this female up like an uncontrollable monster, when this Qunari was the exact opposite.

Her skin gleamed like bronze in the sunlight that filtered through the window, with hair like mahogany: dark and rich which shone red in the sunlight. Despite the confronting sight of shorn horns and stitched closed lips; there was a certain softness to this Qunari. Even with the long-muscled limbs painted with the angular geometry that was uniquely Qunari _vitaar_ , hinting that she was more than a female under the Qun. 

Whoever she was before the name Saarebas was given to her, this Qunari had been no warrior. But with the surfacing of magic, this Qunari had been forced into a constricted cage, let out only when necessary.

As if sensing Cassandra’s thoughts, the mark on the Saarebas’s hand spat energy, always searching, always reaching for something.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed as she inspected the mark.

As the Temple of Sacred Ashes burned, this Qunari mage had emerged, giving Cassandra more questions than answers. A great evil had bested them all, the sky had been torn open and demons spewed into the world. The Divine’s final moments had been relived for all to see. A surreal nightmare that centred on the fact that the Qunari Saarebas was not the perpetrator, but a victim – an avatar even: _Andraste’s Chosen_.

At the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Cassandra stood on the precipice of chaos. Cassandra stood on a shaky precipice of chaos, staring down at the destruction around them. The Maker had answered with the Saarebas and as she mourned, Cassandra scrabbled for purchase on this precipice lest she fall.

With the destruction of Conclave and the death of Her Most Holy, Cassandra stood on the precipice of chaos. She had pushed, she had prayed, determined to find an answer – something, _someone_. The Maker had given her the answer in the form of the Saarebas and with it, more questions.

In the aftermath of the Conclave’s devastation, Cassandra was reeling, her life upheaved. Faith had kept her moving and when the Saarebas had fallen into step behind her, had unleashed her magic at her command, Cassandra had thanked the Maker for his gift.

_You desperately shouted to the Maker and He deemed it worthy to answer. Whatever it is, this mark is the answer._ Cassandra reminded herself, still staring at the mark.

They couldn’t wait any longer, the decision had to be made. Would they follow the wishes of Justinia and declare the Inquisition? The Divine’s instructions to her Right and Left Hands were firm and left no room for error. Conclave had failed, the Breach had opened in the sky. The original objective had changed: The Inquisition would declare itself to close the Breach and bring the perpetrators of the Conclave massacre to justice. Would they succeed? Or would their fledging force scatter like ashes on the wind?

Cassandra was determined and was prepared to pay the dues to succeed. In seeking to restore order, the first of Cassandra’s failures had presented itself. She had failed to find Hawke, failed to stop the violence between the mages and templars. Failed to make her brothers and sisters in arms; the Seekers, to see the Chantry’s reason.

With the explosion of Conclave, Cassandra was left alone with nothing but her prayers.

And her prayers had delivered the Saarebas into her hands.

Then the rift had shown the shadow of the true culprit, she had heard the voice that had prompted the Saarebas to attack as the Divine had urged the Qunari to flee. It had been a sacrifice and Cassandra was determined to ensure that Justinia’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain, the consequences be damned.

Cassandra had decided what needed to be done, what she would do. Faith would be her buoy in this ocean of chaos. Faith alone would propel her forward. The soldiers who survived the onslaught up the mountain had spread what the Saarebas had done, the people were talking of the Qunari mage who had fallen out of the Fade and had closed the Breach that had formed with the explosion of Conclave.

_If there are consequences, then I will pay them. Now I pray that the payment is not too high._

The Chantry would not accept a mage, would not accept a Qunari mage as the avatar that the people had begun to paint her as; a Herald of Andraste.

The Saarebas had followed her up into the mountains and only the Maker knew why. Cassandra would do so again, and she would do what it took to ensure they succeeded.

Decided, Cassandra turned on her heel and left the hut that remained under heavy guard. Her instructions to the soldiers on guard were clear: when the Saarebas awakens, Cassandra was to be fetched immediately. But there was one more person that Cassandra needed to make her case and it disgusted her to even dwell on the fact that _Varric Tethras_ was useful.

Cassandra sent a soldier to fetch the bothersome dwarf instead of appealing for his good graces to speak in favour of the Saarebas. It was he who had managed to communicate with the Qunari more effectively than she had been able too.

The Chantry had always been a refuge for Cassandra, a place of comfort and safety. The incense was as comforting and familiar as holding a sword in hand. But on this day, the holy space was stifling. Cassandra didn’t want to be inside the Chantry, the walls were foreboding – made her feel boxed in. 

_If enough people gather together in prayer, then that place will become sacred._ The echo of Justinia’s words seemed to flit through the Chantry’s walls. Cassandra pursed her lips and strode down the length of the nave and through to the vestry that was curiously behind where the altar was placed. For the first time since she had come to Haven, Cassandra didn’t pause to pray to the Maker and Andraste to guide her.

The Maker had already pointed her towards the path she must take. Andraste had sent her guide. Cassandra believed this, placed her faith in the unbelievable, because there was naught else for her to do other than let this chaotic evil consume her.

Leliana – the Left Hand of the Divine – was standing with Lady Josephine, the two conversing in hushed undertones. The two women were old friends, Cassandra could see this familiarity in how they leaned easily towards one another, unintentionally excluding those around them to the conversation. Lady Josephine was an amenable woman – ever the diplomat – it was in part of her hard work that their fledgling force had made the leaps and bounds that it had. Even with the disaster that was Conclave, coin still was trickling into the meagre coffers. Lady Josephine still worked towards what could still be: The Inquisition of old.

Cassandra didn’t join in the conversation. Instead she went to the ornate writing desk that sat in the corner of the vestry and from a concealed drawer, Cassandra pulled the tome that contained Divine Justinia V’s final decree. The heavy gaze of the other occupants in the room watched as Cassandra carefully on the long expanse of wood that functioned as a war-table.

The door opened and Cassandra turned to greet Cullen: the de facto Commander of the growing army that camped just outside of Haven’s walls.

The position of Commander had been offered on a whim. Varric had spun an epic tale on the story of the Champion – _Viscountess_ – of Kirkwall. But in that tale and in reality, the Knight-Commander of Kirkwall who had weathered the choices of his predecessor had shouldered the chaos on his shoulders. The Divine’s will was a calling that could be heeded by anyone. Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford had been a welcomed and needed acquisition.

The Commander frowned when he saw the Divine’s writ in the centre of the war-table. Cassandra’s constant reminder of what was at stake here. Lady Josephine stepped forward, prepared to call the meeting to order, but was interrupted by the vestry door opening with a clatter.

With a start, Cassandra made for the door. This meeting was arranged on a need-to-know basis only. Only those informed by Cassandra and Leliana would have come to the Chantry. Soldiers on duty had been instructed to refuse admission to the general public until the conclusion of this every important meeting. If anyone had gotten past Cullen’s solders – it was call for concern indeed. 

“This is an outrage, Seeker!” Cassandra recognized the indignant outrage immediately: The Grand Chancellor. Roderick Asignon was a bureaucrat. A Chantry Brother responsible for ensuring the Divine’s will reached the corners of Thedas. The man also believed that he held more tout than he possessed.

Cassandra looked to Cullen immediately. The Commander himself had been outspoken in his objections to the Qunari mage when he had joined their small force on the mountain. The Saarebas for whatever reason _responded_ to Cassandra’s commands. Had walked behind her, moving only with her permission. Until the vision from the rift, the command that had filtered from it had ordered the Saarebas to attack.

The Qunari had attacked the rift and not them. 

And Cullen had fought Cassandra’s reasoning, an unknown Qunari who bore a mark from the Breach. _Tranquillity is not something I view lightly, Lady Seeker._ Cullen had hissed. _But it is something we should consider to fully_ contain _this situation._ Leliana had suggested the same solution: the quickest way to acquire what they needed to know was through tranquillity. Commander and Sister Nightingale had been united in their argument: the Saarebas had survived and with that survival, their guilt was absolute. Still, Cassandra had hesitated on the right course of action to take.

The High-Chancellor had been making the best of his sudden elevation in status after Conclave, conveniently forgetting that the Left and Right Hands of Divine Justinia V had survived the blast. It was easier to let the man blather on, now this annoyance was a hindrance.

What she didn’t hesitate to put a self-serving High Chancellor in his place. “The only outrage is the Divine’s murderer is still at large.”

“The outrage, Seeker, is that you are failing in your duty to the Chantry.” Cassandra scoffed at Roderick’s claim.

“This is a delicate situation, High-Chancellor. You must understand that we currently have a member of the Qun under our care. We must consider Par Vollen in our next steps taken whilst doing what is best for the Chantry.” Lady Josephine spoke sense, even if her words were designed to delay any action that Roderick wanted to take.

“The Qunari’s role in the murder of the Divine has been resolved, I vouch for her innocence.” Cassandra’s statement was addressed to Roderick, yet she was looking firmly at Cullen to stress her point. The Commander had heard the same order that Cassandra had. He had directed the Saarebas to attack the rift and it had been obeyed. Those actions and the Divine’s warning absolved the Saarebas’s supposed guilt.

“The mage’s innocence has been established. Our concern is still the Breach and achieving justice for the murder of the Divine.” Roderick’s face twisted into one of indignant rage at Cassandra’s statement, backed by the noise of agreement from Cullen.

“Seeker this… _prisoner_ failed to close the Breach. The Qunari would make us all converts. How can you know that she did not _intend_ it this way?”

Cassandra scoffed again, opening to rebut, but it was Cullen that interjected. “High-Chancellor, I have worked with mages for all of my adult life. I agree with the Seeker’s assessment, you would do well to value it.” This was a carefully worded warning. One that the High-Chancellor would be wise to heed such a warning.

“You cannot believe that these Qunari mages are capable of…individual thought?” Roderick questioned. A throat cleared and the familiar deep tenor voice of Varric Tethras filled the room. “On the contrary, the Qunari mages _are_. They’re self-aware too, it’s like they _know_ what is at stake for them.”

Cassandra had to conceal her triumphant grin. It was likely the only time that she had been grateful for Tethras’ unwarranted interruption. The dramatic entrance had stunned Roderick into silence, allowing Tethras to elaborate. “You wouldn’t know this, but the Qunari Saarebas are very much aware of what is happening around them. This one is no exception. She _knows_ that there’s something on her hand that’s dangerous and she _knows_ that the Lady Seeker and even Curl – the Commander – can control her magic.”

Roderick scoffed this time, an ugly expression on his face. “Your expert in the Qunari is a _dwarf_? Seeker, I expected better of you.” Cassandra shrugged indifferently. “Master Tethras is a close acquaintance to the Qunari, I’m sure you’re acquainted with the relationship fostered by his close friend Marian Hawke?”

_Everyone_ knew that Hawke had somehow garnered the favour of the Arishok in Kirkwall. Most would want to know _why_ Hawke had bothered in the first place. But with Hawke’s location unknown, Varric Tethras was the next best person to vouch for the Saarebas. The High-Chancellor’s attention was firmly fixed on Varric and for the first time since she had entered the Chantry to argue for the formation of the Inquisition, Cassandra doubted herself.

“We met a Saarebas, once. He’d become separate from his handler – _Arvaarad_ –” Varric nodded to Cassandra knowingly. “–the Saarebas followed Hawke, called her _Basvaarad_. The Arishok said it meant she was worthy of following.” Varric paused and Cassandra knew what he was doing, letting his words sink in. Cassandra was familiar with his antics. She had become annoyingly intimate with how the dwarf built a story for his audience. He’d done the same once, tied to a chair in his own home and by Cassandra, nonetheless. 

“If there is a point Master Tethras, I suggest you make it.” Varric, in a rare show of camaraderie winked at Cassandra before indulging the High-Chancellor.

“My _point_ is simple: this Saarebas followed the Seeker because she deemed the Seeker worthy. This _Saarebas_ obeyed the Seekers orders because she required direction after losing her _Arvaarad_ –” Another wink from Varric and Cassandra had to conceal her own victorious smirk. “This Saarebas showed deference not only to the Seeker, but to the Commander when his position was explained in terms that she could understand. I watched her pour her power into the rift.”

Varric Tethras, Cassandra hated to admit, was skilled at captivating an audience. Leliana caught Cassandra’s eye and inclined her head in such a way that it looked as if she were focusing more intently on the conversation between Varric and Roderick.

Roderick considered Varric and threw his hands in the air. “I’ve had it with this malarkey.” The High-Chancellor of the Divine turned to the guards that stood at attention. “As Grand-Master of the Chantry, I order you to arrest the prisoner.” Pulling rank was hardly a concern, though with the superior tone, Cassandra could almost believe that Roderick possessed the power to do such a thing. The soldiers glanced towards Cullen and then her – they were the final authority after all.

Cullen raised his hand, likely to belay Roderick’s ridiculous order when the door slammed open.  
  
“The...the Herald is awake, Seeker. At once you said!” The elf messenger stuttered out.

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***

Golden sun blinded the Saarebas, warming the Saarebas. The ache in her back overrode the muted stabs of pain in her left wrist. Saarebas squinted against the sun, which was too bright against closed eyes. Sluggish, Saarebas lifted her hands to shield the light. Heavy iron should have hindered, the clink of chain cool against exposed skin. There should have been resistance. And only one hand lifted to halt the sun’s relentless assault on sensitive eyes.

Panic rushed through Saarebas, overcoming the fatigue that settled in her bones.

Memory – memories – were inconsequential. They could be false, Saarebas reminded herself. Even then, Saarebas remembered. Holding hands high, dangerous power streamed into the rift that breached worlds. Pouring power like Saarebas had into the rift had rebounded, flinging her backwards.

Saarebas had failed Arvaarad’s orders. Saarebas had failed the Bas Arvaarad.

Panic replaced shame.

Saarebas’s duty was clear. The path had laid itself before the Saarebas and her failure had been in seeing it to its end. Arvaarad would not have tolerated such failure, would not have allowed the Saarebas to fail in such a way.

Bas. Arvaarad had spat once. They do not understand failing a duty that they do not accept.

As the sun streamed into closed eyes, Saarebas doubted. Doubted following the Bas Arvaarad. Doubted that the mark on Saarebas's hand would absolve her duty to the Qun. Saarebas knew the teachings of _Ashkaari Koslun_ and the importance of one’s duty. Once _Artisaari_ sang Ashkaari’s stories to beating shuttles, passing back and forth through the loom. The Artisaari wove the Qun into the fabric of the clothing their wore. The melodies still hovered on Saarebas's tongue, waiting for their opportunity to manifest. But that was old path, long ago abandoned for the lonely path of Saarebas. A self-sacrifice made for the preservation of the Qun.

The Artisaari were another lifetime, another path. A path that had led her to the one of Saarebas. The path that Saarebas had not dwelled on since she had donned the mask of Saarebas. She had cursed and resisted as the Arvaarads held her in place. Over her curses, Arvaarad had called for her silence. Curved needle pierced through soft, lip-flesh until her curses had halted. Permanent, unchanging.

Saarebas had once fought this path of purpose. Had failed to see where duty would take her. Arvaarad was the one who had explained to her.

_Dragged into the light, she must descend back into the darkness. There, she will share the knowledge that the great Ashkaari's had imparted. The burden of the Saarebas is not sharing this knowledge. The selflessness of the Saarebas, protected by the Arvaarad is the Qun's success._ Arvaarad had told Saarebas this, as he rubbed soothing ointment over swollen lips.

Saarebas’s eyes flickered open. The sun was blinding, a welcomed pain that drowned out the ache in her bones. It was an effort to sit upright, muscles throbbing at the sudden movement.

The mask of the Saarebas gleamed in the golden light. Within eyesight, within reach. The bas had removed it, exposing themselves to danger. What for, Saarebas didn’t understand. Panic returned, raw and invigorating. Saarebas couldn’t walk amongst the vulnerable or in the shadow of Bas Arvaarad without the mask. Compromise wasn't an option. If Saarebas could not see, than neither could evil, if it had taken root. If Saarebas could not speak, corruption could not spread. If Saarebas could not touch, than neither could evil.

Saarebas scrambled with weakened limbs for the mask, desperate. Cold filtered through wooden flooring as Saarebas reached for the mask, startled. Unshackled, unbound. The mark embedded in her wrist glowing emerald in the light sun's rays.

_The bas exist believing they know what is right. They are wrong._ Arvaarad had told Saarebas.

A moan of desperation escaped Saarebas as she fell to the cold floor. Saarebas reached for the mask, desperate. The task was easy and simple, yet it was like traversing a mountain. Saarebas could see the mask, but where were the irons? Frantic, Saarebas searched the spare quarters where she had woken.

There was no sight of Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas was alone. Desperate panic engulfed Saarebas, a strangled cry escaped Saarebas. There was no Arvaarad, where was Bas Arvaarad? Without her, Saarebas would succumb to the evil that threatened her existence. Without Bas Arvaarad, Saarebas would fall. The demons that crossed into the world through the Breach would overcome her.

_Bas Arvaarad had abandoned Saarebas to die._

There was only one exit, the door opening to reveal bas-soldiers. Saarebas could hardly move, but the rage of the Saarebas smouldered within. Flames waited for coaxing into a raging inferno, lightning unleashed in a storm. Saarebas let the flames leap from her hands, scorching flesh and wooden floor. Without Bas Arvaarad, Saarebas acted on instinct. These bas would not looking kindly on Saarebas like the Bas Arvaarad had.

Saarebas had reached the end of her path. The mask of Saarebas clattered into her hands.

Flames licked the floor around Saarebas she slid the mask back into place. The familiar weight did nothing to quell the instinct to fight and flee.

Bas hands were on her shoulders, trying to pull her to safety away from the flames. Saarebas fought, weak and pitiful. Death was the answer, yet the bas refused - denied Saarebas what was hers to take. Hot flame was her response, the heavy heat make the bas retreat. Determined shouts of the bas filtered underneath the dull roar of flames. The sizzle of water quenching flame was loud and damning.

Saarebas answered the bas calls with a roar of her own, hands hauling her through the flames. The bas flung Saarebas into the snow, flames extinguishing with a harsh sizzle. Saarebas cried again, the thread in her lips cutting through healed flesh.

Dripping wet with melted snow, unable to conjure flames, Saarebas focused within herself. Saarebas would not cower under the bas. The sea of uncertain chaos that ruled the bas surrounded her. Saarebas could not keep her head above those waves forever. Saarebas would not flounder, she would escape its depths and complete her duty to the Qun.

The slide of steel drew Saarebas's attention as the bas parted. “Saarebas.”

She knew this voice, the rich tenor that embodied command in every syllable. The one that the bas called Commander. Like Arishok, but not. Yet this Commander was Bas Arvaarad too. Paradoxical and uncertain, refusing to fulfil his duty.

“Bas Arvaarad, Saarebas.” The long sword pointed to a building that loomed over them. The wind howled around them, silence pressing around them.

With a burst of energy, Saarebas hauled herself to her feet and charged through the bas. Saarebas followed the worn path, slippery with mud and ice. The bas stopped and parted for Saarebas, watching her pass by. Saarebas didn’t understand why, did not _care_ to understand. The Bas Commander had pointed the way to Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas would go. Saarebas would follow muddy boot prints.

The quenching magic of Bas Arvaarad Seeker was close by. It sought out Saarebas with questing tendrils. A crowd of bas had gathered at the base of the building, clustered around the entrance. Lightning swelled in Saarebas’s hands. The bas would not stop her now.

And then the bas were parting, whispers washing around Saarebas like waves on sand. Saarebas didn’t understand. Saarebas didn’t want to understand.

“Saarebas, halt.” Angry, feminine, brusque. Bas Arvaarad Seeker. Curls of lightning in hand extinguished, and Saarebas fell to her knees in deference. The see-sawing balance had steadied. A wrong righted: Saarebas had returned to Bas Arvaarad. The mark pulsed in her hand from something unknown.

In the silence that followed, a cruel and victorious laugh echoed. “Thank you, Seeker, for delivering the Divine’s murderer to justice. Seize her.”

Saarebas only knew two of the words that the male bas, in sweeping robes like the _Tamassrans_. Yet no male should bear such role, it was unnatural; disobeyed the natural order.

Instinct ruled Saarebas, the air crackled with lightning. And the Saarebas moved against the bas.


	3. A Path of Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is in our own power to create the world, or destroy it."
> 
> \-- An excerpt from The Qun, Canto 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings may apply in this chapter.

There was one thing that a Qunari and Cassandra would always have in common. _Instinct._

Instinct had Cassandra pushing herself in front of Roderick – _the foolish man_ – her own power reaching out to meet the Saarebas’s. Cassandra watched as crackling lightning fizzled out. The Saarebas kneeled, expressing her subservience to Cassandra and Roderick had exploited the Saarebas’s deference, had made herself vulnerable. Everyone watching knew what the mage was, _who_ she was.

The supposed murderer of the Divine. A Qunari who had closed the rift at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A mage who alone possessed unknown power. _Andraste’s Chosen._

Roderick had painted himself a target for the Qunari mage, it was too bad that Cassandra was unable to let the problem take care of itself. Unconscious now, the Saarebas slumped to the ground, no longer a threat. Not that the Qunari had been one until Roderick had opened his idiotic mouth, _once again_. Cassandra’s attention turned to the High Chancellor. A quick assessment showed Roderick had survived the Saarebas’s attack unscathed. Inquisition soldiers stood, torn on which direction to follow: the orders of the High Chancellor or to defer to the Right Hand of the Divine.

Cassandra made the decision for them. 

Scoffing, Cassandra turned back to the waiting soldiers and issued orders in rapid succession. First: to escort Roderick back to the Chantry proper. Second: for soldiers to return to their posts and the third: for the female soldier closest to Cassandra to help carry Saarebas into the Chantry. 

People had been drawn to the commotion on the Chantry’s front steps. Cassandra muttered under her breath as she stooped to drape a heavy arm over her shoulder. With a second pair of hands to help, Seeker and the soldier eventually managed to get the unconscious Saarebas upright and into the Chantry.

This time, Cassandra would be present when the Saarebas regained consciousness.

Until then, the Seeker directed the Saarebas to rest on Cassandra’s own bed. The mark on the Saarebas’s hand emitting bursts of power, despite the fact that the Saarebas’s connection to the Fade had been severed once more. Again, Cassandra looked down at the unconscious Qunari, wondering just what the Maker and Andraste were trying to tell her.

The Saarebas’s clothes were damp and her hair wet. Maker knew what had happened before the mage had come charging up the path. 

After the messenger had stuttered out her announcement that the Saarebas had awoken, Roderick had stood in Cassandra’s way, demanding that she call for the immediate arrest and transportation of the Qunari to Val Royeaux. And as Cassandra argued with Roderick, who clearly did not understand the scope of what they faced, Cullen had slipped out of the vestry unnoticed. Cassandra understood the Commander’s logic: better a familiar face, than none at all.

And as Roderick stood there demanding that _she_ bring the Divine’s murderer to justice, Cassandra saw that he was hindering her from doing just that. 

Up on that mountain, Cassandra had witnessed what she believed to be the truth. Up on that mountain Cassandra had seen the Saarebas obey first her orders, and then the apparition of her handler: _Arvaarad_. Cassandra still questioned, despite the evidence suggesting otherwise. The Saarebas had only attacked because Roderick had threatened the Qunari.

 _The Divine has expressed her will, renew the Inquisition of old, close the rifts and you will find justice for Her_ , Cassandra reminded herself.

With an exasperated sigh, Cassandra gingerly spread damp locks of frizzing hair over the thin pillow so that the Saarebas’s hair would dry. A fire was always burning in this room at Leliana’s directive.The Left Hand couldn’t stand the cold; she’d never offered up a reason why – the warmer room would be better than the hut; which kept out most of the cold but was never truly warm.

Fixing the mask that Saarebas had slid back into place, Cassandra turned back to the waiting soldier, who she hadn’t dismissed. “If the Saarebas awakens, you will inform her that the Bas Arvaarad is close. Repeat this, and do not approach her.” The soldier responded with a wary salute, before sounding out ‘ _Bas Arvaarad’_. The sounds were unnatural, yet the more Cassandra had said it, the more familiar it had become. So too was the word _Saarebas_.

“Thank you.” She said. Saarebas’s actions were proof that she would only react when there was a threat. “The Saarebas will not harm you, I assure you.” Cassandra added as an afterthought. Of course, the soldier was wary, and Cassandra didn’t blame the woman for it.  
  
With a final nod of thanks, Cassandra stormed into the vestry where a shaken Roderick was waiting. Josephine was taking notes as always, seemingly uninterested in the deviation in business. Leliana stood close to the door, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed and her face hidden by the hood of her tunic.

“I hope Seeker, for everyone’s sake that you tossed that…creature in the dungeons and –” Roderick began. Leliana interrupted before Roderick could finish sprouting his nonsense.  
  
“Seeker Pentaghast is responsible for the Qunari. You not only hindered her from ensuring the safety of our – guest, but also ordered the arrest of the mage...who is Qunari.”

“The very fact that the mage _attacked_ proves that she is guilty!” Cassandra scoffed at Roderick’s insistence. It _would_ be too much to ask for a sudden change of heart.

“A kneeling mage whose attention was on me only. Who only attacked when you called for her arrest?” Cassandra hedged.   
  
“This is unprecedented. An example needs to be made; the Chantry will not tolerate such attacks.” Roderick insisted. 

“There is nothing precedented about a Qunari mage falling out of the Fade, High Chancellor.” Cullen commented coolly, an equally frosty look accompanying his statement. 

“How the Chantry prosecutes a mur-” Cassandra interrupted Roderick. “There is nothing precedented about the murder of Her Most Holy. I remind you that the Saarebas _reacted_ to your order.” 

The High Chancellor glared, and Cassandra met his gaze, brows raised. 

“This is not the end of this Seeker, Val Royeaux will have something to say about this.” Roderick announced. Cassandra’s stare followed Roderick Asignon as he swept out of the vestry. Cullen shook his head as Cassandra rested fingertips lightly on the war table, which sported the beginnings of operations that spanned across Ferelden and Orlais. 

Cassandra scoffed again in disgust. “That was dangerous, what the High-Chancellor did.” 

Lady Montilyet cleared her throat. “Not to detract from this situation, but we must address a greater issue. If Roderick succeeds and the Qunari is arrested, it will spark a multi-national incident.” 

Leliana nodded in agreement. “The High-Chancellor will not remain idle; we should assume that Val Royeaux would have been informed now of a Qunari mage that bears a mark of unknown power.”

“We also need to consider how this will affect our operations.” Lady Montilyet added. The ambassador from Antiva shuffled her work together neatly. There was sense in what Lady Montilyet said, as well as Leliana, but the Divine had made her will clear. If peace at Conclave hadn’t been achieved, the Divine had willed the reformation of the Inquisition. Only now, Her orders would be fulfilled posthumously. Cassandra, as Right Hand of the Divine was _obliged_ to fulfil these orders until the election of a new Divine.

The way forward was not so simple, but it was clear as day to Cassandra.

“Justinia made her will clear. Conclave was meant to forge a peaceful way forward. We cannot let that vision die with Her.” Cassandra pressed. 

_The Maker does things that we do not expect._

“Despite her heritage, we have to remember the people have begun to paint the Saarebas as the Herald of Andraste. Whatever course of action we take, must be done carefully.” Leliana pointed out, an echo of Cassandra’s thoughts. 

“There is a way forward, Leliana, it’s just not what we imagined.” Cassandra insisted. “We need someone to unite everyone under one banner, to restore order.That is not the Saarebas, but you cannot deny that she is not needed.” Cassandra finished.

Cullen cleared his throat. “We need the mark to close the Breach. The Chantry needs to show that it is still in control. They are desperate and will act so. The Saarebas needs us just as much as we need her. By protecting her we protect the Inquisition.”

“The Divine sought peace. Prosecuting the Qunari contradicts her wishes. We are in a better position than the Chantry would have us believe.” Josephine added thoughtfully.

“We should also consider the threat that Tranquillity could pose to mark. We cannot be sure that it would not be effected should the Rite be performed successfully.”

Cassandra nodded in agreement with Cullen. “Tranquillity is out of the question.”

The Rite was reserved for the harshest of punishments,or for those who couldn’t bear the burden of the Maker’s supposed gift - who didn’t want it. The Rite of Tranquillity had been abused by the Order in this war. For the Qunari who walked the Fade to suffer the same fate of countless others would be the Inquisition’s undoing before it had the chance to succeed. But even with Solas the elven mage’s hypothesis that the mark had its own individual source of power, it was a gamble that they could not afford to take. 

And what would a Tranquil Saarebas do? Already, the Saarebas sought out her own predetermined purpose, dictated by the Qun. Would a Tranquil Saarebas remove the mask and cut the sutures that kept her lips fasted together? If the mark survived Tranquillity, like Solas had suggested, would a Tranquil Saarebas observe and analyse those rifts, providing valuable information to the Inquisition? Would she even understand it?  
  
 _There are too many questions that we cannot answer._

“And what of the Qunari? Shall they be informed of the unique position that one of their adherents has found themselves in?” Lady Montilyet’s question needed to be considered carefully. One that Cassandra herself had considered as they had hauled the Saarebas out of the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes. _What of the Qun?_

The Qun’s role prompted another series of questions that were difficult to answer. 

“The Qunari were at Conclave. We should assume they are aware of what has happened and the role the Saarebas has played.” Leliana shifted her weight from one foot to another, the only sign that she was uncertain, despite the authority that she spoke with. 

The spymaster had approached Cassandra directly with the predicament that was the Saarebas when they – the apostate Solas – was working to stop the mark from indirectly killing the Saarebas. Acknowledging that the Qunari who had been sent to Conclave that had died in the resulting explosion was one thing. But to acknowledge that one of their number and a mage had survived was another. Cassandra wasn’t one to ignore a problem – instead she preferred to confront it directly – but in this instance, both women had agreed that for the moment at least, the Qun should remain ignorant.

“A Qunari bearing the mark and proclaimed the Herald of Andraste will not escape the Qun’s attention for long.” Cullen pointed out. “We have to consider if they will or will not cooperate with us. We do not know how they will react. An attack will finish us before we can begin” Cassandra also added. 

Lady Montilyet, nodded, taking their concerns on board. Still there was a gleam in her eye – one that Cassandra had learnt to mean that she had an idea on how to approach the situation. “And the Inquisition?” 

Cassandra placed a hand on the writ of the Divine. “Justinia has made herself clear. Having Saarebas is merely an obstacle that we can – will work through.” She reminded the room.

“I’ve never seen you so optimistic, Cassandra.” Leliana commented lightly.

“The people will need a leader.” Josephine pointed out.

“And we will find Hawke, we have come this far. The Saarebas is a sign for the people, a symbol that Andraste is listening to their cries.” Cassandra responded firmly.

Lady Montilyet was scribbling furiously on her paper, noting the minutes of this meeting. “Declaring the Inquisition with a Qunari mage as proof of Andraste’s will, will not convince those in Val Royeaux.” She pointed out.

“And if we were given someone else other than a Qunari mage, what then? The Chantry would always censure us.” Cullen rebutted, the voice of reason. 

There was a burgeoning sense of victory brewing within Cassandra – that her push for the formation of the Inquisition would be supported and accepted. But along with it, was the fact that the Saarebas very much was part of such success. Watching over the Saarebas would be a burden that Cassandra would – _could_ bear, if it led to justice for the murder of the Divine, justice, for those lost at Conclave. The anguish of many would be heard and acknowledged, with justice, the people could begin to heal. 

“The Saarebas is our key to closing the rifts, I took responsibility at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, I will continue that responsibility.” Cassandra affirmed aloud.

“And closing the Breach?” Cullen questioned her. Already, an afternoon had been lost to debate on closing the Breach. Refusing the arrest of the Saarebas had cost allies, ones that Cassandra had argued they didn’t want nor need. 

The debate whether to approach the Order or the rebel mages was superficial. The mages wouldn’t approach the Inquisition even if they were desperate. Their power would be valuable, but so too would power harnessed by templars. Cullen was correct when he stated that templar assistance would bolster the Inquisition’s army and provide magical support in combating the Breach.

But right now, closing the Breach wasn’t the issue that Commander, Ambassador and the Left and Right Hand of the Divine’s met over. It was whether to declare the Inquisition reborn, and to accept that the Saarebas was a tool, given to them to achieve their means: for justice and to restore order. 

“Where we go, the Saarebas will follow to tend to the rifts.” Cassandra spoke with confidence, despite relying solely on the fact that up until now, Saarebas had chosen to follow her. Cassandra could only hope that would continue. 

When there was no further objection or question Cassandra knew that half the battle had been won. The Inquisition would be declared, spurned by the call of the late Divine.

“We must inform those who gather in Haven.” Leliana announced, moving from her position by the door at last. The Left Hand scooped up Divine Justinia’s writ, handing the tome to Cassandra.It was her responsibility as the Right Hand – the sword of the Divine – to announce restoration of the Inquisition of old. To deal the first blow with the sharp sword of justice in Her Most Holy’s name.

Cassandra accepted the tome, the words that she had read so often lately weighing heavily now in her hands. But it was the right thing to do; the _just_ thing to do.

Together, four unlikely companions walked towards the doors of the Chantry. Commander, Ambassador, Spymaster and Seeker, united on their quest. But when Cassandra heard the stammered words from where she had left the Saarebas, she paused. Handing the Divine’s writ declaration to Cullen, Cassandra turned on her heel and returning the way she came.

The Saarebas was her duty. Cassandra had accepted the responsibility.

Cassandra dismissed the soldier, leaving her alone with the Saarebas. Outside, Cassandra knew that Cullen was declaring the Inquisition, the crowds being roused in the Divine’s name. Outside the crowd would swell in fervour celebration, rather than the wails of mourning. Outside the Inquisition would be declared.

Inside the Chantry, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast forged down a new path of the unseen and unknown. Inside the Chantry, the Seeker tended to a mage of the Qun, who bore the mark of Andraste. 

_Maker help us to not trip and fall_ , Cassandra prayed silently.

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***

Saarebas tugged at the long and heavy garment that the Bas Arvaarad had insisted she wear. The bas here enjoyed layers, but for Saarebas, the layers were cumbersome and didn’t move with the body. Ill-fitting. Even if they were effective in staving off the cold. The heavy collar that connected to the mask of the Saarebas fitted easily underneath the heavy garment that sat over the Saarebas’s shoulders. Underneath the collar was a thinner jacket of sorts and fitted pants that were too loose around the waist. The iron mask was still painful to wear in the frigid cold, but it was a welcomed reminder of where the Saarebas was. Of the danger that the bas could pose. 

The Saarebas’s hands remained unbound, freed of shackles that once weighed them down, preventing the touch of corruption from spreading. Bas Arvaarad had given Saarebas gloves that were fitted with cuffs weighted with iron. It granted the illusion of the shackles the Saarebas once wore, concealed the sickly green magic of the mark on Saarebas’s wrist. Those gloves were ineffectual, a curated lie by the bas that insulted the plight of the Saarebas.

And Saarebas could do nothing more but cling to the weighted garment as if it were a lifeline.

The mark pulsed as the wind rushed around them, unrelenting and driving the cold. Saarebas didn’t like cold.

It had been two days since they had left the relative shelter of the bas-village. Two days that Saarebas followed in Bas Arvaarad’s footsteps, heading for the destination that the Dwarf called “The Hinterlands.”

The Karataam moved with smooth efficiency, Arvaarad and Saarebas moving together with unending vigilance. _Karasaard_ moved where Arvaarad and Saarebas could not, pointed towards their purpose under the guiding eye of _Karasten_. Together Karasten, Karasaard, Arvaarad and Saarebas became one as they worked to fulfil their purpose to the Qun; together, they were Karataam.

Arvaarad was right, the bas thrived on chaos. Yet in this setting, functioning as one entity, the bas followed a semblance of order. Bas Arvaarad acted as Karasten, issuing orders and accepting reports from her subordinates. Bas Arvaarad – the _Bas Seeker_ – appeared to thrive on this chaos whilst simultaneously instilling order. An intimate insight that showed Saarebas why the Bas Seekers were formidable foes. Why Arvaarad had deemed it necessary to speak of them.

The Dwarf also walked with the Bas Seeker and Saarebas. It was clear the Bas Seeker didn’t like this arrangement, yet, seemed powerless to stop such actions. A paradox that Saarebas didn’t endeavour to seek an explanation for.

The provided an endless commentary of their surroundings. The dwarf knew few words of Qunlat and used them where he could. Somewhere, the Dwarf had encountered another who spoke Qunlat. _Tal-Vashoth…_ Saarebas considered, before dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. Tal-Vashoth were savages, consumed by chaos and the primal urge to kill. Despite this, it occurred to Saarebas that Tal-Vashoth was the only conceivable notion. No viddathari would willingly speak Qunlat to a bas, let alone teach them.

Saarebas’s curiosity was piqued and with it came wariness. Qunlat was the language of the Qunari, not the bas. Their language was as disjointed and chaotic as their nature. It did not ebb and flow like the ocean’s tides, a lulling melody that inspired and soothed. Their language reflected their chaotic nature.

Still, Saarebas listened and observed as they descended from the blistery cold of the mountain to hills. Here, the trees were thick, and the cold settled heavily in one’s bones instead. The bas soldiers watched Saarebas with wariness and something unfamiliar and unsettling. The Dwarf called it ‘awe’, but Saarebas didn’t know what this ‘awe’ was. If it was something valued by the bas, Saarebas didn’t care to know.

But as the days of travel continued, the bas soldiers began to relax when they were in proximity to the Saarebas. They adjusted to Saarebas, as Saarebas adjusted to them. It was a mutual relationship of tolerable distrust, mixed with this ‘awe’ that the Dwarf spoke of.

Then the path became narrower and winding, taking them back towards the mountains and Saarebas couldn’t help the grunt of exasperation. The Dwarf who had fallen into a stoic silence let out that familiar chuckle.

“I don’t think anyone like’s the cold, Saarebas.” Saarebas knew the bas word for cold now. The bas would pull their garments closer about them, saying this word as their teeth chattered in protest.

Saarebas didn’t respond to the dwarf, not that he would be deterred by Saarebas’s silence.

“Chuckles likes the cold, I think. The man’s wearing woollen pants when the rest of us are padding our clothing with sheep’s wool.” Another deep laugh as the dwarf nodded to his left, where the Elf-Saarebas walked on his own.

Bas Arvaarad, with the help of the Dwarf had explained that the magic of the mark would have overwhelmed the Saarebas. Her life would be forfeit without the aid of the Elf-Saarebas.

Unsubstantial memories, unreliable and fleeting were suddenly recalled. Arvaarad’s final order, attacking the demon that stalked from the rift in the sky and the one that bas called Commander directing Saarebas to attack the rift. Breath being ripped from her lungs as her body collided with cold stone. Saarebas had failed Arvaarad’s order, failed her purpose to the Qun. 

Now, Saarebas trudged back up a mountain with the bas with no other reason other than the Bas Seeker made for an unknown destination. Where the Bas Seeker went, the Saarebas would follow. 

“Inquisition forward scout, which is like–” The dwarf paused, piquing Saarebas’s interest. “ _Ashaad_?” The Dwarf eventually offered. There was uncertainty in his tone and Saarebas took notice. The path had led to a camp with tents and a cooking fire, flags with the device of the Inquisition; the manifestation of the Bas Seeker’s purpose fluttering in the wind.

The Bas Seeker was speaking with a female dwarf, who kept glancing at Saarebas. Saarebas noted the bow slung over her shoulders, seemingly as wide as the she-dwarf was tall. The quiver full of arrows that also rested on the dwarf’s back, the small knife sheathed at her side. Yes, Ashaad was an appropriate comparison.

Saarebas made a sound of confirmation, unthinking, momentarily forgetting that it was a _bas_ who spoke to her constantly. 

“So, the Saarebas _does_ listen!?” The dwarf exclaimed. Saarebas purposely turned away. Saarebas should not have interacted with the bas-dwarf, should not have allowed her cautious regard to the bas to be dulled. The Bas Seeker was distracted and had not witnessed Saarebas’s misstep. Atonement would not come from the Bas Seeker; she would not acknowledge the potentially fatal error that the Saarebas had made.

Instead, Saarebas retreated away from the Dwarf. Careful to stay within eyeshot of the Bas Seeker, but far enough that Saarebas was separated from the other bas. She would wait here, until the Bas Seeker pointed Saarebas in their next direction of travel.

Bas Seeker called for them to continue on, finalising their destination.

Saarebas did not move until the Bas Seeker had gestured for her to follow.

The bas soldiers remained with only the Elf-Saarebas, the dwarf and Bas Seeker continuing on. A fast pace was set, urgent even. The Bas Seeker lead them down the mountainside and into a valley where the cold lingered, along with something much more ominous. Wilderness was turned into farmland, so similar yet so different. Fences dominated the landscape, an unspoken warning that the land was claimed by one bas.

 _Property,_ Arvaarad had said when Saarebas had first seen them. _The bas claim what is theirs and will kill to protect it._

Saarebas lengthened her stride, stepping closer to the Bas Seeker.

The familiar sound of battle echoed through the valley. War cries accompanied with the clash of steel weapons crashed over them like waves on rocky shores. The wrongness in the valley was apparent here, the bas once again had tipped the balance of natural order.

Bas Seeker drew her sword, the Dwarf was preparing his own weapon – a device that appeared to be a bow, but it was clunkier and appeared hefty to hold. Only the Saarebas and the elf-Saarebas remained motionless.

“Stop the Bas-Saarebas.” The Bas-Seeker ordered. Saarebas inclined her head, the only acknowledgement that Saarebas could give that the order was understood.

Their new pace was set, moving with the heightened wariness of impending attack.

Saarebas felt the bas’s magic before it was seen, stilted cold making one’s breath emerge in white puffs of warm air. An unnatural cold that made the very air painful to breathe. Saarebas searched for the Bas Saarebas, pulling off heavy gloves as her hands began to burn from internal flame, heating the flesh of her fingers. 

There – Saarebas could hear the magic of the Bas Saarebas. Underneath the roar of battle, there was the rise and fall of a language that trembled with power and frosted the ground. Saarebas focused on it and followed it, furious flame sizzling as the air grew impossibly colder. Each step took them closer and closer.

There was another voice, accompanying the first. A different call, calling on a different magic - there was more than one Bas Saarebas.

Bas Seeker let out a bellowing war-cry, charging into the skirmish, Saarebas following after with a flaming maelstrom. The pressing silence of the Bas Arvaarad sought to halt the Saarebas. Their tendrils that snatched at Saarebas’s power, leaving behind emptiness.

The other Bas Arvaarad.

Behind the Saarebas came the flurry of frost that was from the Elf-Saarebas. Arrows shot from the Dwarf’s bow-like contraption, targeting adversaries who had evaded the balls of flame that were being flung forth.

With the Bas Seeker leading them, they continued to push forward through burning farmland, the devastation of the landscape around them making the Saarebas’s lips curl in contempt at the waste. It would take time for the land to recover, the taint of magic slowing its recovery. All of this because Bas-Saarebas warred with their Bas-Arvaarad.

The Bas-Saarebas to the north were much the same, destroying the land as they resisted the Qun, resisted the necessary control of the Arvaarad.

“Saarebas!” Bas Seeker called with familiar anger.

The Saarebas saw what Bas-Seeker saw: bas-soldiers that wore the uniform of the Inquisition, standing to fight and shielding bas that cowered behind them. _Defenceless bas_. Saarebas saw them, what they represented. The bas who did not fight, but even so resisted the Qun. The bas who undoubtedly toiled land and wove clothes. The Bas-Seeker bid Saarebas to protect them.

Saarebas breathed in frigid air, reaching within for the flame that burned even brighter and hotter than before. “Protect the Inqusition, Saarebas!” The Bas Seeker called out.

Saarebas obeyed. 


	4. A Way to Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...The purpose of the world renews itself with each season.  
> Each change only marks a part of the greater whole."  
> \-- Tome of Koslun, the Soul Canto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inardessam: A forge. Derrived from “inardesco” – the verbular latin form for flame, kindle, conflagrate, and the Qunlat “Essam” – “can be found in …[or] exists in the location of.” Blacksmiths would bear the grouping of Inardaari.

The Saarebas’s presence was hindering as well as inspirational. 

Cassandra saw how the Saarebas affected the refugees who had sought shelter in the Hinterlands. For most, the towering Qunari-mage with sown lips and heavy iron mask that obscured her face was a terrifying picture, to be avoided at all costs. Yet some watched the Saarebas with frightened curiosity: this feared mage was Andraste’s Chosen. To those few, the Saarebas became the being that would ensure justice for the Divine. The Saarebas then was a creature to be respected and revered, not feared.

Lady Josephine along with creative tailors had eliminated the shackles that restrained the Saarebas. A tailor-made coat had been devised, the sleeves weighted down with bands of iron and a high collar that hid the Saarebas’s heavy one. _An illusion of restraint_ , Lady Josephine had claimed. _T_ _his will allow us the remove the Saarebas’s restraints, yet still restrain,_ the Antivan diplomat had added.

The transition was not the smooth one that Lady Josephine had been so optimistic about.

To simply remove the restraints around the Saarebas’s hands had required the aid of six soldiers and Cullen’s smite. It was a strange experience to see the shackles removed with the Saarebas unconscious on the straw covered floor of the forge. Before Cullen’s smite had taken affect, the Saarebas had not uttered a sound as she resisted.

When the Saarebas had regained consciousness, there had been furious sounds from behind the Saarebas’s sown lips, but there had been no further struggle. Only detached acceptance that her hands were unbound. Only then did Cassandra question if what they had done was right. But such guilt could not hinder her objective to apprehend the Divine’s murderer and Cassandra had pushed such guilty thoughts aside.

When they departed Haven, Cassandra saw how the Saarebas shook her hands and fussed with the sleeves of the coat. But there was no further resistance. Cassandra ignored the resurfacing guilt. 

The Inquisition soldiers that travelled to the Hinterlands were wary of the Qunari who walked silently in Cassandra’s shadow. The mask of the Saarebas gleamed in the wintry sunlight, a beacon that would lead straight back to the Inquisition. Discontent rippled through the infantry at any movement, or sound that the Saarebas made. They waited for the Saarebas to attack them, some daring to goad the Qunari who walked beside the Seeker. The infantry captains were quick to punish such acts, but it did little to assuage the concern the soldiers felt.

The first reports out of the Hinterlands hinted at what awaited the Inquisition.

Chief Scout Harding’s reports were not reassuring. Civilians impacted by the mage-templar war had fled their homes, seeking peace in the wilderness of the Hinterlands only to be surrounded by violence, cold and sickness. The fighting between apostates and templars was moving closer to the refugee camp situated at the Crossroads every day. When the call for aid had come from Mother Giselle, supplies were dwindling and the Chantry would not provide the aide that was needed. The Inquisition was sorely needed here.

Mother Giselle would be at the Crossroads, working with the skeleton Inquisition forces as they arrived in the Hinterlands. The Revered Mother’s reputation proceeded her: a woman steadfast in her devotion to the Maker and Andraste’s teachings. This devotion reigned in how she practiced Andraste’s teachings, as Giselle challenged defied the orders from the Chantry’s upper echelons, exposing the conditional relief for the needy. Food and supplies for shelter throughout Jader, Orlais, and Ferelden were granted, only on the whims of the nobles that governed the land they stood on. Mother Giselle was an ally and friend that the Inquisition needed. In these times of tumultuous time of violence, with no Divine to go to for counsel, Cassandra welcomed the advice of a Revered Mother who once held the confidence of Divine Justinia. 

The route provided by the Inquisition forward scouts wound through hills in a direct path to the Crossroads. Along with the Saarebas, Cassandra was accompanied by Varric and the apostate Solas. As the signposts became more frequent, so too did the signs of the warring mages and templars. The Inquisition’s arrival prompted the apostates and templars to target the Inquisition soldiers who marched to protect and support civilians.

Drawing her sword, the order spilled from Cassandra’s lips: _Protect the helpless bas_.

And the Saarebas obeyed, despite Cassandra’s order that her hands be unshackled.

Flames erupted from the Saarebas’s hands, forming a wall between the mages and civilians caught up in the fray. The Saarebas pushed the inferno forwards towards the apostates as Inquisition soldiers made quick work of the templars. As quickly as the fight had begun, it was over. The Saarebas’s flames died away and stepped back in line behind Cassandra.

“Thank you _Herald_ , thank you.” One of the refugees had moved forward, kneeling, and wrapping dirty hands around the coattails of the Saarebas’s coat, uttering the same line over and over. The Saarebas jerked away, flames dancing on her hands.

Cassandra stepped towards the Saarebas, using her gift to smother the tendrils of magic. It would not do to deprive the Saarebas of her magic but having the Herald of Andraste attacking refugees would be the end of the Inquisition before it could truly begin. Kneeling beside the refugee, Cassandra took the refugee’s hands in hers. Cassandra moved so that she was kneeling between the threatened Qunari and adoring refugee. 

“The Inquisition is here to provide safety and give shelter. We can now move safely due to the Herald’s timely intervention.” Cassandra placated, her words just as much for the panicked and shocked refugees. The Saarebas was trembling, ready to fight and flee from the perceived threat. 

A lieutenant stepped forward, hands raised in submission to the Saarebas and Cassandra took the opportunity to take charge of the situation they had unwillingly found themselves in. “Escort the civilians to the Crossroads and bring them to Mother Giselle’s attention.” Cassandra ordered. Cassandra stood, turning her complete attention to the Saarebas. The Qunari was taller but seemed to shrink as Cassandra met the Saarebas’s gaze through the diagonal slits in the mask that the Saarebas wore.

“Move out, Saarebas.” Cassandra ordered sternly. The Saarebas shuddered before taking a step backwards and sinking down to one knee. This show of deference came more frequently since Cassandra had removed the cuffs on the Saarebas’s hands. It was unnerving, to see such a creature be subservient and it left Cassandra feeling uneasy.

“Stand up, Saarebas. We move out now.” Cassandra snapped in frustration at the kneeling Qunari. Immediately Cassandra regretted losing her temper with the Saarebas. Andraste had ensured that the Saarebas entrusted herself into Cassandra’s care. This was a burden – a responsibility that Cassandra had been chosen to bear.

Pointing down the path that would take them to the Crossroads, Cassandra shook her head. “This way Saarebas, I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.” The Saarebas did not know the Common language, but the intention was what mattered. Cassandra did not wait for the Saarebas. Hearing the familiar heavy footsteps of Saarebas walking behind her, Cassandra let out a breath she did not know she was holding. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***   


Mother Giselle examined the Saarebas who sat on a stone wall where Cassandra could see the Qunari mage. Varric was leaning on the wall, talking at the Saarebas. Unusual as it was, where the Saarebas was, the dwarf usually was close by. But what Varric talked about was a mystery.

Cassandra turned her attention back to Mother Giselle. “The Inquisition is here, but it is difficult to determine where to begin, other than avenge the Divine’s murderer.” Cassandra confided. 

Mother Giselle nodded. “The winter is not kind in the Hinterlands Seeker Pentaghast. What resources we have are stretched too thin. Civilian, soldier and Sister are growing weary with hunger. The Inquisition needs to provide hope, not the promise of violence.” 

Barely organized chaos met the Inquisition at the Crossroads. Tents for refugees had been erected, but there were more people than tents. Cassandra could see the strain that the overcrowding caused on the uprooted people. Rations were dwindling and the tents were too thin to provide a reprieve from the cold. For the sick and wounded, they were put together underneath a pavilion. Mother Giselle was right. Hope and not violence was what the people needed. The sight of the Saarebas promised both. A warrior for Andraste, with the dreadful power to strike them all down. 

Wherever the Saarebas walked, whispers of disbelief and anger followed from the desperate people occupying the Crossroads. There were those claiming that the presence of a _horned beast_ was the sign that Andraste had abandoned them, along with the Maker. For all of the Saarebas’s dissidents, including the Chantry itself, there were people who saw the Saarebas otherwise. The Inquisition had arrived, they whispered. The _Herald of Andraste_ would protect them.

For Mother Giselle, it was important that the Saarebas become the symbol of hope and deliverance rather than a harbinger of continued violence. The Chantry’s denouncement was only the first action the Chantry would take against the Inquisition and the Saarebas. _This changes nothing_ , Cassandra thought. _It only means_ _the Inquisition’s objectives will be harder to achieve._

“You understand this the most, Seeker.” Giselle explained. “Without a Divine, there is no one to guide us. The clerics are ostentatiously denouncing the Inquisition as heretical only to advance their standing within the Chantry. Those that see know the truth of the Saarebas. Those that are paralysed by their fears and uncertainties are as dangerous as those with their own agenda.” Giselle was concerned, for the Saarebas and the Inquisition.

Giselle trusted the Maker’s plans and believed Andraste’s will. Like Cassandra, Giselle saw a higher reason that the Saarebas had been delivered into the Inquisition’s hands. 

“Would you speak with those clerics and sway them to the Inquisition’s cause?” Cassandra asked, already knowing Mother Giselle’s answer. Mother Giselle shook her head, eyes closed with regret. 

“The Maker has willed me here Seeker, and I will not leave these refugees. I have provided Sister Leliana with names of those who do not accept the Chantry’s frightened rhetoric. I have written to them and described what I have witnessed of Andraste’s Chosen. Make them listen, make them doubt, and they _will_ respond to the Inquisition’s call to action.” Mother Giselle urged.

“When you look at the Saarebas, what do you see?” Mother Giselle asked softly. Cassandra turned her attention back to the Saarebas. Varric was pointing at something in the distance. Giselle’s question went beyond what was in front of her.

Witnessing the Divine’s final moments at the Temple of Sacred Ashes was a moment Cassandra would not forget. Seeing the Divine urging the Saarebas and her handler to flee and raise the alarm confirmed the Saarebas’s innocence. Cassandra knew what she had seen, what the Maker wished for her to do. She spoke for the Saarebas because the Saarebas would not speak for herself.

“I see a mage that’s better off dead.” Cassandra answered. 

“You are the Right Hand of the Divine. Go to Val Royeaux and make them listen. Tell them what you see.” Giselle urged.

Shadows of doubt and guilt crept forward, for the Saarebas and for what she faced with the Inquisition. Accompanying it was the sinking feeling of helplessness that settled like a heavy cloak around Cassandra’s shoulders. It reminded Cassandra of the lonely path that she had chosen and the consequences if she failed. Those thoughts of failure threatened to crush her where she stood. Instead Cassandra pursed her lips and turned her attention back to Mother Giselle, unwilling and unable to describe the dark thoughts that had manifested within. 

Mother Giselle reached out, touching Cassandra’s gloved hand. “I do not need to remind you that the Maker will set us on lonely paths to fulfil His will. You do not have to walk this path alone, Cassandra.” Mother Giselle reassured, forgoing formalities. Though Giselle’s reminder did not abate the helplessness and sense of failure, the Mother’s words were reassuring enough to draw a strained smile that was more a grimace.

“Thank you, Mother Giselle.” Cassandra breathed gratefully. 

Mother Giselle shook her head. “We thank _you,_ Seeker Pentaghast, for fighting for the hope that is desperately needed in a dark world filled with chaos.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***  


Bas Arvaarad was troubled. Saarebas could hear it Bas Arvaarad’s speech. Could see in the sharpness of Bas Arvaarad’s actions. A troubled Arvaarad was sent to the _Ben-Hassrath_ to be reminded of his Purpose to the Qun. The Saarebas’s Burden was the unnatural power within. Arvaarad’s Burden was to protect the vulnerable from that power. Bas Arvaarad had accepted this burden: guide the Saarebas to fulfil their purpose or forfeit their life in the name of the Qun. 

Chaos gripped the bas-camp. Helpless bas shivered from cold and wailed from hunger. Disease gripped them all. Surrounded by the bas-Saarebas, helpless bas surrendered to their suffering. Some Bas wore sweeping garments of white, red, and gold. They alone sought order. Saarebas thought them to be bas-Tamassrans, until their maleness was revealed. 

Saarebas watched in disgust as those bas performed the duties of a female.

These bas were at the height of their hypocrisy. They claimed to be something they were not. They were neither _Ben-Hassrath_ or _Tamassran._ Yet the suffering bas sought them out for comfort in their unfamiliar words as they shivered with cold and ate too little. There were _imekari_ here too. Hollowed cheeks streaked with dirt and tears. They shivered from cold as they cried for food.

_The bas embraces their suffering and relish in it_ , Arvaarad reminded Saarebas. Arvaarad had explained that the bas accepted their suffering by living amongst chaos. _They suffer and in turn, bring more suffering upon the world_ , Arvaarad had concluded. _The Qun alleviates our suffering and ensures balance in the world. It is our Purpose to maintain that order_ , Tamassran had said to a young Saarebas long ago.

Bas Arvaarad in this way differed from the other bas. Bas Arvaarad carried the bas’s suffering as her own, seeking to remove it from the world. Saarebas watched as Bas Arvaarad floundered underneath the weight of this self-purpose, struggling to stay afloat with no guidance or way forward. 

Before leaving the larger bas settlement, Bas Arvaarad led Saarebas to a place the bas called ‘forge’. The fire burned in the hearth, and the sharp thud of metal hitting metal pulsed out of the building. The sounds were that of the _inardessam_ , where steel was twisted and moulded.

Saarebas had been in such a place.

In the _inardessam_ , Saarebas received the mask of the Saarebas, which had confirmed Saarebas’s Purpose and Way to the Qun. Arvaarad had returned there with Saarebas to lock the collar signifying Saarebas’s submission to the Qun around Saarebas’s neck. Then, Saarebas hands had been bound in the same iron that had been used to shape the mask of the Saarebas.

Saarebas had followed willingly to the bas-inardessam, only to struggle against the inevitable when the _inardaari_ had made to remove the hand bindings. Bas Arvaarad would first remove the restraints around her hands, then the mask. Each action more dangerous than the other. Bas Arvaarad would undo the will of the Qun. Bas Arvaarad would remove the Qun’s safeguards to protect the world from the Saarebas.

Saarebas resisted, knowing the consequences of defying Bas Arvaarad’s authority. Lightning crackled; the air charged with electricity. Panicked shouts. Bas Arvaarad struggling to control Saarebas’s flailing hands. Saarebas felt the power of the Bas-Commander, soothing and constricting crashing over Saarebas, quenching the lightning that brewed within.

Saarebas woke to scarred hands, unbound. Free. 

The first night in the bas-camp, it rained. The rain left behind a crisp cold and rinsed away the blood that stained the earth. Purple, red, and pink hues of sunrise promised a new day. The covering that the Bas Arvaarad had given the Saarebas was heavy and protected from the cold. The sleeves were heavy and constraining, like the restraints that Saarebas had once worn.

In the early morning, an older Basra approached Bas Arvaarad, clothed in the garb of the bas-Tamassrans. Saarebas watched as Bas Arvaarad walked with the Basra. Saarebas followed and settled on a stonewall that was damp from rain. 

This Basra was different than the other bas-Tamassrans. This Basra dressed like the ones who had gathered on the mountain top, where Arvaarad had led Saarebas to watch and to listen. There was a gentle strength about this Basra that set her apart from those on the mountain. Her earthy skin, darker than the Saarebas’s disguised the lines of age – of knowledge. 

Saarebas’s shoulders squared when the Basra fixed her gaze on Saarebas. 

“Revered Mother.” The dwarf’s voice said from the left of Saarebas. Saarebas did not move. “Teacher, they provide guidance.” The dwarf continued. The words were unknown, loaded with reverent meaning that Saarebas was meant to understand. Saarebas turned her attention to the Bas Arvaarad. The tension Saarebas had seen in the Bas Arvaarad’s shoulders had lifted.

Saarebas understood: _Tamassran._

The other basras had perished in the explosion atop of the mountain that had sundered the sky. They had worn the same garments as the Basra standing with Bas Arvaarad. Yet what Saarebas saw was a contradiction to what Saarebas _knew_.

Saarebas stared, taking in the gravity of the bas female who stood with the Bas Seeker, of the other bas females that had perished in the explosion on top of the mountain. They too wore the same garments. And for everything that Saarebas had been taught of the bas, how they embraced chaos and suffering and rejected the order and purpose of the Qun, this Bas Tamassran was a contradiction.

The bas dwarf still chattered. Saarebas turned to her unwanted, persistent companion.

What Saarebas had seen caused Saarebas to question the bas. If Saarebas asked, the bas dwarf would answer. The amount of time passed since the sharp pinch of a needle piercing the soft flesh of lips, drawing them closed was irrelevant. Without speech, Saarebas could not corrupt or maim. And so, Saarebas remained silent, turning to focus on Bas Arvaarad. 

The Bas Seeker bowed her head. The Bas Tamassran took Bas Arvaarad’s hands in hers.

Saarebas could not hear what Bas Arvaarad and Bas Tamassran said to each other. Saarebas wondered. Bas Arvaarad gestured to Saarebas to follow.

Saarebas saw Bas Arvaarad’s unhunched shoulders. Saarebas saw how Bas Arvaarad embraced the Bas Tamassran. Three strides Saarebas took to fall into step with Bas Arvaarad. Three steps and Saarebas questioned the chaos that the bas embraced. 

*** * * * * * * * * * * ***  


Demons crawled over the ground, bringing frost and cold with them. Everything the demons touched was corrupted. Unnatural. The bas that occupied the land had fled, seeking to escape the demon’s corruption. 

Only Saarebas could stop this spread of corruption. Bas Arvaarad had led Saarebas here to fulfil that purpose. Fire melted ice and snow, heated the frozen ground and hindered the demons. It allowed Bas Arvaarad to destroy them. It made the demons pliable to be splintered by the bas dwarf’s arrows. The Elf-Saarebas was useless. The same icy chill that spewed from the demons’ mouths came from the staff that he carried. Useless. Impractical. Saarebas could not understand why the Bas-Seeker insisted on leading the Elf-Saarebas too. The bas did not hold their Bas Saarebas close, unlike the Qun. The bas allowed their Saarebas to walk alone. The bas gave them knowledge, they enabled their corruption.

And yet, the Elf-Saarebas followed Bas Arvaarad.

From the rift, a demon crawled with a curdling shriek. Its limbs were like spindled wood. Saarebas knew this demon and how it threw back its head, emitting paralysing shrieks. Fire would silence those screams and turn stick-like limbs to charcoal. Fire would make the demon succumb, ridding the world of its corruption. 

Elf-Saarebas shouted at Saarebas as icy tendrils raced to ensnare and corrupt.

Only Bas Arvaarad could command Saarebas’s fire. The Elf-Saarebas was ignorant - a fool. The bas had allowed this elf to walk unrestrained and unchecked, to delve deeper into unnatural force that swirled within. Without the arrogance of the Elf-Saarebas, the mark would have achieved what Saarebas had failed in her Purpose to the Qun: forfeit her life. 

Bas Arvaarad sounded her command, over the sound of her sword connecting with the hooded demon that froze the ground with icy breath. The Elf-Saarebas grappled now with the wooden demon, its long limbs swiped at the elf to maim. 

Fire, scorching and hot raced across the icy paths that the demon had left behind. It melted ice, the flames licking the ground greedily as the inferno raced towards the demons. Saarebas's unbound hands burned as the fire engulfed demons and land. The rift in the sky spat and thundered, furious at the damage Saarebas had inflicted. 

Instinct moved the Saarebas forwards. Saarebas moved quickly with long, careful strides over the ground that still burned from the Saarebas's flames. The mark on the Saarebas's hand pulsed and spat magic as Saarebas darted closer to the tear in the sky. 

The garment that Bas Arvaarad had put on Saarebas hindered progress. Saarebas pushed the sleeve back, raising a singular hand to push the mark into the bleeding sky. The power of the mark collided with the unnatural force that tore the sky in two. It was easier for Saarebas to lift the marked hand and watch as the sundered sky knitted itself back together. The Saarebas had abandoned one Path to fulfil another. Here the two converged. _Artisaari_ and _Saarebas_ could not walk together to fulfil the Qun's Purpose. 

Saarebas watched as the rift exploded, the sky no longer bleeding demons and corruption. 

The battle was over, balance and the natural order restored. Saarebas stood in the divided field, staring up where the sundered sky had once spewed sickly green poison onto the earth. The Saarebas's fire died away, leaving behind blackened, frost bitten ground. 

Saarebas did not understand. The mark allowed Saarebas to mend the sky, piecing it back together like a length of delicate cloth that had been torn. Yet such skill - to knit, weave and mend - was not the Saarebas's Burden. Arvaarad would know, Arvaarad would understand. The Qun did not preach of multiple paths to fulfil the individual's Purpose. Saarebas stood at a crossroads.

It was a troubling realisation for the Saarebas. Without Arvaarad to guide her, Saarebas could not pave the way forward.

Bas Arvaarad approached.

"Each rift that you closed restores order. Now the people that live here can return and prosper." Bas-Seeker told Saarebas.

Saarebas did not understand. The bas language was as chaotic in sound as it was by the bas that spoke it. Bas Arvaarad’s unknown words provided guidance to Saarebas. Arvaarad delivered his counsel through force and derision, a harsh reminder of the Burden that the Saarebas bore. Bas Arvaarad did neither, thought counsel was there.

There was something Other to Bas Arvaarad. Saarebas again watched as Bas Arvaarad gathered their forces. Bas Arvaarad was something more: _basvaarad._

A bas worthy to lead the Saarebas. 

Saarebas had followed out of necessity. A necessity to continue fulfilling the Saarebas's Purpose to the Qun. The karataam would prosecute Saarebas and condemn Saarebas’s actions and presence. Saarebas would respond with basvaarad. The karataam would follow. 

Falling into step behind Basvaarad, the turmoil of questions quietened. Where Basvaarad walked, Saarebas would follow. 


End file.
